Originally on my life in Prague and my dissertation research on early Czech surrealism. Now it's life in the fast lane. Or is that the slow lane? The passing zone? The No-Doz zone? Please turn off your cell phone in my classroom and turn your full attention to my diverting babble.

Friday, April 27, 2007

Paddling the Vltava

This year's Fulbright group has just as much fun as last year's. I've missed most of it due to a combination of Czech class, illness, and going out of town, but every now and then my schedule (which is not exactly heavily booked, unless you count working at the library as a pressing social engagement) permits me to join in. On Wednesday we celebrated Anna's birthday by going paddle-boating, or whatever you call those plastic foot-powered tubs (surely not pedal-boating).And to the right one can see Sarah and Trever. The Czech Republic, where beer is a breakfast beverage for many, does not seem to have American-style restrictions on what one drinks on the water. I don't think there is a high death toll from people falling out of paddle-boats.

The birthday girl and Shawn...

Your foreign correspondent and Alicia...

The rival boatload...

The Slavia cafe...

The Smetana museum area (museum is the farthest building to the left, before the Charles Bridge)...

The Castle in the distance, with Charles Bridge...

Back onshore, our celebrant attempts to open a bottle of birthday champagne. She is wearing two (yes, two) T-shirts specially acquired for their peculiar use of the English language. I suppose I really ought to acquire similar souvenirs, but I try to stay out of places that offer such things. Still, this is the sort of thing an art historian needs. I envision Anna wearing one of these when she starts grad school at NYU and gives a talk on Czechoslovak socialist realist depictions of women.After we finished off the champagne, we went for pizza, then up to the beer garden at Letna. Around midnight, the few remaining among us located a place that was still serving, and when they told us it was time to leave, we proceeded to that cellar-maze place near Lazarska whose name I can never remember. As the evening grew more dissipated, we indulged in such games as the one where a person is presented with three names and has to choose "which one you'd chuck, which you'd fuck, and which you'd marry." I would say the most entertaining responses came from the trios of "Bush, Hitler, Stalin" and "Štyrský, Nezval, Teige." Let's just say that Shawn, Anna, and I all said we would marry Karel Teige. Shawn's descriptions of his plans for Nezval were somewhat unexpected, shall we say. Things escalated from there and we appreciate the night tram service very much.